‘Slightly, very slightly,’ answered De Beaupré. ‘You are the Duc of Avon, I think? What may I have the honour of doing for you?’
‘I am the Duke of Avon, m’sieur, as you say. Am I right in thinking that I address a relative of the Marquis de Beaupré?’
‘His uncle, m’sieur.’
‘Ah!’ Justin bowed. ‘You are the Vicomte de Marrillon, then.’
The Curé seated himself at the table again.
‘I renounced that title years ago, m’sieur, deeming it empty. My family will tell you that I am mad.
They do not mention my name.’ He smiled. ‘Naturally, I have disgraced them. I chose to work amongst my people here when I might have worn a cardinal’s hat. But I suppose you did not come all the way to Anjou to hear that. What is it I may do for you?’
Justin offered his host some snuff.
‘I hope, m’sieur, that you may be able to enlighten me,’ he said.
De Beaupré took a pinch of snuff, holding it delicately to one nostril.
‘It is hardly probable, m’sieur. As I said, I have long since withdrawn from the world, and what I knew of it I have well-nigh forgotten.’
‘This, mon père, has naught to do with the world,’ replied his Grace. ‘I want you to cast your mind back seven years.’
‘Well?’ De Beaupré picked up his quill and passed it through his fingers. ‘Having done that, mon fils, what then?’
‘Having done that, m’sieur, you may perhaps recall a family living here of the name of Bonnard.’
The Curé nodded. His eyes never wavered from Avon’s face.
‘More particularly the child – Léonie.’
‘One wonders what the Duc of Avon knows of Léonie. I am not likely to forget.’ The blue eyes were quite inscrutable.
His Grace swung one booted leg gently to and fro.
‘Before I go further, mon père, I would have you know that I speak in confidence.’
The Curé brushed his quill lightly across the table.
‘And before I consent to respect the confidence, my son, I will learn what it is you want of a peasant girl, and what that peasant girl is to you,’ he answered.
‘At the moment she is my page,’ said Avon blandly.
The Curé raised his brows.
‘So? Do you usually employ a girl as your page, M. le Duc?’
‘It is not one of my most common practices, mon père. This girl does not know that I have discovered her sex.’
The quill brushed the table again, rhythmically.
‘No, my son? And what comes to her?’
Avon looked haughtily across at him.
‘M. de Beaupré, you will pardon me, I am sure, for pointing out to you that my morals are not your concern.’
The Curé met his look unflinchingly.